


A Merciful God

by Aquielle



Series: Destiel Smut Brigade Valentine's Day Fic Dump [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean wuzs Cas, Demon!Dean, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Romantical Schmoopy Feelings, Smut adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-11 09:48:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3322937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquielle/pseuds/Aquielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While missing Cas hurts worse than a punch to the face, admitting it out loud would be the equivalent of stabbing himself in the chest. No way can he let that wound bleed out for anyone to see.</p><p>He knows that his chick flick moments with Cas have been piling up like bodies in an overly incriminating basement. He can picture each one in his mind like snapshots, a mountain of photographic evidence that he can never hide from. </p><p>But no one else needs to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Merciful God

**Author's Note:**

> Valentine's Day is not normally something I tend to celebrate, but these two assbutts deserve some romance.

The too tight, not enough room in your own skin feeling starts up when Dean least expects it sometimes. The feeling like his body is somehow too big and too small simultaneously.

The creeping itch to break things hasn't abated but most days he can channel it into more productive uses, today is apparently not one of those days.

Research has never been his favorite part of the job, but it has never switched his anxiety into overdrive either, until now.

Everything has been quite on the western front for almost two weeks. Cas has run off to help Hannah and Sam has insisted on cataloging the contents of one of the storage units in the basement.

To say the unit was vast would be an understatement. The boxes were packed so high and tight that after two days they had barely made a dent. The air in the basement, normally cool and dank was starting to feel stifling and overheated.

Dean was trying to maintain some control over his anger but every single little thing was pissing him off to no end.

The boxes, the dust, illegible writing, weird smelling powders, oddly shaped amulets and more books than he could shake a stick at, half of which were in some text thus far undecipherable.

It was humid, dusty and gross in there but every time he said anything about the heat Sam would just look at him like he was wearing a live octopus for a hat and tell him to go take a break. Like he had some delicate constitution or was weak or some shit.

Okay, he knew he was overreacting, but that tone of Sam's was starting to piss him off too. He should be out shooting evil in the face not playing librarian in a hole in the ground. He was starting to think that maybe this was all just busywork.

If he didn't know better he would swear that his brother was trying to distract him from the elephant that was missing from the room. Dean felt Castiel's absence acutely; however he had pointedly not talked to Sam about the fact that maybe it had something to do with his increasingly foul mood.

Dean knew the jittery feeling all too well for what it was, the junkie shakes. Only he couldn't get his next hit when his drug of choice was off chasing angels back the pearly gates.

He hadn't had to worry about working through these mood swings by himself since returning to the bunker. He doesn't like to think of Cas as his crutch, but the tense feeling in his shoulders tells him that maybe he's been limping without realizing it.

The antsy, creeping in his stomach is readily explained away, Dean is intimately familiar with horny. After years of sharing a motel room with Sam that's easy to quash for a while.

But this feels different somehow, deeper and bordering on the edge of frenzied. He just needs to shake this off, needs to hit something, hard.

*******

Hitting the heavy bag in the gym doesn't do much to dissipate the tightness or the irritation. After unintentionally knocking the bag off the hook for the second time he realizes that perhaps this isn't what he needs.

He decides there is nothing that cannot be improved by ample amounts of hot water, that will relax him surely. He stays in the shower for far too long and it accomplishes nothing in the way of relaxation. His own touch is too rough and leaves him wholly dissatisfied. His mind wanders to dark hair, blue eyes and long delicate fingers but the nagging emptiness hasn't abated and his stomach tightens with unease.

He used to feel broken and dirty every time the desire for contact washed over him. His lack of control like a beacon of his weakness calling out that he was prey. The mark would flair and the endorphins would rush through him, making him hard so fast he got lightheaded. Now he just feels hungry and itches to call Cas, mainline directly from the source.

Their initial foray into Cas becoming a dominating force in Dean's bedroom as well as his life was not intentional. He had simply followed where Cas had lead him. He thought that it would establish some equilibrium and maybe douse the torch he had been bearing for the angel once and for all. He never expected that Castiel would reach down deep inside him and stoke the spark into a gas soaked inferno that threatened to burn him to a cinder.

As he walks back to his room he thinks about the needs of his body. They gnaw at him in a way that's painful, but the pain is familiar, almost comforting in it's constancy. It's the achey and emotionally compromising longing that makes him squirm. He never signed up for this needy bullshit.

While missing Cas hurts worse than a punch to the face, admitting it out loud would be the equivalent of stabbing himself in the chest. No way can he let that wound bleed out for anyone to see.

He knows that his chick flick moments with Cas have been piling up like bodies in an overly incriminating basement. He can picture each one in his mind like snapshots, a mountain of photographic evidence that he can never hide from. But no one else needs to know.

No one needs to know that every time the demon in him snaps to rip and claw until he is saturated in blood it's the smell of ozone that sates his thirst.

No one needs to know that when his insides growl at him to go darker, go deeper that it's the soft rustle of feathers and calm warmth of Cas that pools around him, lulls him, lapping at him like waves in a jetty.

No one needs to know that he wants to touch and be held and feels safe in Cas' arms. No one needs to know that he aches to breathe into the dip in Cas' throat and rub up against him like a fucking cat while he sleeps. And sure as hell no one needs to know how his heart gets all fluttery when Cas calls him things like "beloved" and "beautiful".

He is taking that shit to the grave because there are lines that Dean will not cross.

Luckily Cas has no lines, no limits, no sense of what constitutes acceptable public behavior or any concept of gender roles. Sometimes he is insanely grateful for Castiel's lack of social graces and almost single-minded obsession with cataloging every reaction he can pull out of Dean.

Absolute certainty combined with a lack of inhibition is a wonderful look on his angel he thinks as he walks into his bedroom and stops short.

Someone has been here, he sees an envelope with a tiny red heart drawn on it sitting against his pillow.

That wasn't there this morning.

Castiel's "should have been a doctor" handwriting is unmistakable, it's deliberate placement and far too pink envelope mean it can't be anything other than what it seems. The thought simultaneously makes him smile to know that Cas is back and roll his eyes at the utterly ridiculous notion that his socially inept angel has sent his cursed ass a Valentine.

When he opens it up he has to sit down. The writing is just barely on the side of legible.

 

_Beloved,_

_Sam tells me that you refer to this holiday as unattached drifter Christmas, that doesn't really apply anymore. Humans are such uniquely fascinating creatures, you celebrate so much sometimes I cannot remember all the milestones. I find myself enchanted by the prospect of professing romantic ideology, this should come as no surprise. I know that you don't label things or like to talk about feelings, but I find my desire to put my thoughts into words is almost overwhelming. I hope you will forgive me this transgression._

_Every human sense I have felt has called out to you. You who showed me so much, ignited so many desires._

_I long for the smell of gun oil, earthy leather and light, clean shampoo. The fresh smell of soil, the sharpness in the air before it rains and the deep living growing things nothing in Heaven can quite replicate. All of the sweet and salty and pungent human things I have grown so enamored of. That hint of sulfur that will probably never leave you always reminding us where this bond was forged._

_I crave the taste the rich, juicy, savory hamburgers that fulfills something primal in me that needs meat and flame to collide. The sweet, bright, flakey flavors of apple pie that you love best with creamy milk and languid kisses. The salty smooth taste of your skin under my tongue that I would die a thousand times to keep forever so that it could bless my lips over and over like a favorite prayer._

_I want to hear the roar of the Impala, crack of a gun, tinny echo of a shovel hitting stone. The harsh bark of your amused chuckle mingling with Sam's pearly laughter, the noise you thumb makes as it slides across your lower lip when your nerves get the better of you. The sharp inhale when I find just the right spot, the low broken sounds that you try so desperately to keep inside. The very first part of you I ever knew was the sound of your soul calling out to me in the fiery depths._

_I desire the sight of your radiant soul and the way it flared the first time I saw it. The sharp line of your jaw when you decide that stubborn trumps smart. The perfect curve of your bottom lip as it drops open to form a moan. The tiny white marks on your shoulder that blossom into pink when I can no longer resist biting as I sink in. The way the green of your eyes changes from thoughtful to impish then lusty, burning so quickly it's like watching thermite explode._

_I need your touch always, the warmth that rolls off you in waves while you sleep tucked in as if I am the sun you orbit around. The strength and curve of your back as I pull you in tight just to know that you are solid against me. The wet, heat of your mouth and the sweet pressure of your lips. The weight and the euphoria of being so close as you rise and fall above me like a phoenix burning us both to ashes only to rise again._

_All that you are is necessity to me now beloved. My love for you has achieved terminal velocity and I cannot help but believe my fall has been the act of a merciful God._

_Yours eternally,_

_Castiel_

 

 

Dean sits on his bed, letter still in his hands staring at the heart on the envelope. Slowly it dawns on him that what he feels is bone deep, sharp and certain.

He is in love.

Crazy, stupid, destructive, burn you up from the inside out love.

Sweet, cozy, stare into his blue eyes until you feel like you might drown love.

This desire for Cas wasn't an addiction, it was a whole new limb that he has been using for years and can no longer function without.

He didn't know when it happened, maybe when those barn doors flew open.

Castiel had entered his life with a crash and sparks flew everywhere, maybe it was always meant to be.

He feels the bed dip, and the realization of Castiel's presence makes his vision tilt. 

This feeling grips him and it's so dizzy he might throw up from it, how the hell did he get here and not notice it love.

The hand on his jaw turning him to face Cas was gentle and cool. He closes his eyes and exhales slowly as if to center himself, the mark finally settling into silence. "I missed you" he breathes out as he looks up.

The lunge when green finally meets blue is inelegant and a little off center, but the sound Cas makes, pleased and surprised is worth being a little sloppy. It's so warm and sweet Dean just wants to kiss him forever and make up for all the time he wasted before. 

This is far from the first time they've kissed, it won't be the last. But it will be the last time before he finally speaks the words out loud.

Because as the warmth of Cas sinks into his bones soothing every nerve and he thinks maybe there is a merciful God. 

He pulls back long enough to look the angel in the eye "I fucking love you, you know that right" he asks solemnly. 

The smile he gets in return could light up the whole damn world.  

**Author's Note:**

> I am fully aware of the fact that this is not that great and I'm sorry. I like to think what I lack in smut I make up for in feels.
> 
> I had a deadline and work has been kicking my ass lately so thank you for reading.


End file.
